I can't bear to say goodbye

Last night was a particularily long night with many a trips to the bathroom. I take the joy in small servings as my night was spent popping gravol, I rejoice in knowing that for the past 20minutes, I have been able to keep a piece of buttered bread in my stomach.

As means of distraction, I tried to think about the whole idea of hope and what I could honestly say that these youth wouldn't have heard before. I tried re-playing in my mind every step of where I made decisions with a feeble attempt to identify that one life changing moment in which I found the "new hope"

I couldn't find a single thing. In fact, I now think of myself as a coward more than anything else.

There was someone who, while sitting on a cold floor, grabbed each foot and layed out what the future could look like: known outcome or hope. And it was certain that others voiced their opinion and thoughts on the matter, whether I sought them out or not. I tried reading various sources on cancer and death and new treatments... I listened to various medical views and staff and even spent endless hours attempting to pray about it.

And all these things helped, there is no doubt about it... but the only turning moment or comment that really resonnates deeply right now is someone begging the question, "So... what - this means that you are going to start saying goodbye to all the important people in your life?"

I realized then, that I couldn't. I have never been really good at saying goodbye to anyone of value, human or pet, concept or belief. I am a traditionalist and it still shocks my closest friends that I joined another ship in the harbour with regards to my religious practice. I knew that there was absolutely no way that I could even begin to say goodbye to all these people, dreams, or hopes for the future and so that left me with either saying goodbye to all these things or fighting it off as long as I could. And, if it wasn't meant to be fought then I would just slowly slip away and wouldn't ever have to say goodbye.

This means that it wasn't so much finding a new hope somewhere as it was just trying to avoid the undesirable. Hmmm... is that finding hope? Or just hiding from something really scary and hard to do??

She's like the sister I never had...

Okay, if anyone would have told me in August that Alison would turn into my big sister and be the sister that I never had, I honestly would have laughed in their face. I cried when Chelsy left and wasn't really sure about meeting this Alison person.

While it might come as a shock, I am actually quite shy and meeting new people and being out going is really, really hard to do. (I have to stand in the mirror and coach myself for hours before I leave the bedroom!)

One Sunday at Christ Church, the presiding priest stood before the congregation and welcomed everyone and made a special note of welcoming Alison "back home"... September soon rolled around and I guess that sitting beside someone in an office each day of the week begins to have an effect on people. I soon made my work schedule so that I would go in a few hours each day.

We would laugh and joke and tease and tell stories. We both managed to get our work done and her company and friendship was more than I could have asked for or ever imagined. I have to be honest, there were a few moments where Alison answered the phone, barely able to say what she had to without laughing as we had been laughing hysterically (or she had been laughing at me) seconds before the phone rang. Hardly knowing any of my new Anglican family, she took me under her wing and introduced me boldly to every face that walked through the door.

When Michael pulled me aside after church one Sunday to ask if I would be interested in helping with youth ministry at Christ Church, I found it odd that Alison simply wrote her number out on a sticky and said, "Call me after you talk to him!" but didn't say anything more. Apparently Michael had spoken to Alison as well and the plan was for the two of us to do it together. She might disagree, or perhaps one of the youth will stumble along on the blog and call me a liar, but it couldn't have worked more perfectly. We made an awesome team and there was no turning back. Spending 6 days out 7 with each other, it didn't take long for me to realize that she was one heck of an awesome person and disciple of Christ.

We would often joke around that whenever I had to call in a favour, she would add it to my tab and eventually, that could be cashed in for a grilled cheese sandwich at the Silk Hat around the corner. It was where Alison took me when she found out that I was a sucker for grilled cheese sandwiches... it was our place to eat. We didn't need a menu, it would never change... an iced tea, diet coke, and two grilled cheese sandwiches please!

First, she became my best friend... that person I could call or text or email day or night, she heard about the latest crush and even the weird stalker who sent flowers. She was the one who told me to give them to Cathy in accounting and surprise her. Then she became my partner in crime as we knocked the youth off their feet with a flip up in programming and activities and broke the new Dean in with the appropriate survival kit.

But more than that, somewhere along the line - I don't know how and I don't know when - she became the sister that I never had. The older sister who would look out for my well being when I couldn't do so myself, who took a genuine and "older sister" attitude when things needed to be said or done.

There is one night that I will never forget. I knew that she often stayed up late on the computer or watching tv, and I had returned home after first being diagnosed. I couldn't stop crying and nothing seemed real. I texted her cell phone asking her to call me if she was still up. It was almost midnight and the odds were slim... but two seconds later, my cell phone rang. In a broken voice, fighting back the tears, I mangaged to say "hello" in response to her. She didn't beat around the bush or even try and sugar coat anything... she asked straight up... "what's up Ange?"

"If someone found something out that was particularily bad, would they need to tell their Bishop? Would they need to tell their employer? Alie, I don't want to... I can't take time off..." and quickly fell apart again.

"Where are you?"

"HUB Mall"

"I'm on my way, I'll be there in 15 minutes. DON'T GO ANYWHERE!"

There she was... I think she hugged me for a solid 15 minutes as I cried on her shoulder. We began to walk as I am one of those people that needs to move around. We walked until 2:30 in the morning. She didn't say very much, she let me vent. She asked some questions, but didn't push advice or opinion... she just listened.

When I could no longer go to church and lead the youth group, she would ask for suggestions and totally go in on her own. The Sunday that I received permission to go, she made all the arrangements with the people she needed to and we sat up in the choir stalls - with her right by my side. There was no way she was going to make me go through any of this alone. Christmas eve, we were both scheduled to serve and I was SOOO excited. Exhausted, but so excited. Alie showed up with a white blanket for me to use in case I got cold - the white would blend with the albs. She brought a bottle of orange juice in case my sugars got low or I needed a boost. She wasn't leaving me.

On the rough days of chemo, she wouldn't ask if I wanted company - she would simply state... "I'll see you tonight! I want to watch the hockey game with you" and then would ask Jane later if it was okay. When things got really rough and I was feeling tied down to staying inside, she showed up, kidnapped me and we drove through Brite Nights after a cup of hot coco from Timmy's. We walked the Leg grounds and admired the beauty, she gave me daily updates on what was happening at work or church, and passed on every greeting and email that came through for me. Knowing that stuffed animals were my soft spot, she went and made Booker, but she didn't stop there... she made an entire scrapbook of his life before he came to live with me... making sure to get to every important person I looked up to in life, including a special prof from St. Joe's. There was a picture of our lil' youth from Christ Church, priestly types, co workers, my family at Christ Church... the whole shabang. When I received an invite to the Comfort of Christmas service and really didn't want to go alone, Alison sat right there with me, holding my hand, embracing my pain, and supplying fresh kleenex.

When I got the good news about the cancer working it's way out, I was sooo excited and honestly waited for her to get home from school in Japan, which is like 2 or 3 am our time, just so I could tell her and not have her hear from someone else. She is one of those people who has forever left footprints on my heart no matter what happens in the future.

She accepted a teaching contract that would have her in Japan until the end of July. Just recently, she was offered to stay on until at least next January, possibly even longer. Just like I was when she first told me that she got the job, I am excited for her. It is truly the opportunity of a lifetime and she is living a dream... honestly. She is living in a culture that she doesn't know or even understand what they are saying the majority of the time. She is already involved in church and has adjusted better than I could ever dream of doing.

But tonight was a rough night. I came to bed two hours ago and have spent a good hour and half of that crying. I miss her horribly... and it's not just that I'm missing my best friend, I miss my older sister. I miss calling the office and playing jokes... I miss the jokes about how much it cost me to photocopy on coloured paper and topless Tuesdays. I miss the Silk Hat trips - and they just aren't the same. I took two of my newly adopted siblings there and I even took my real sister, but it feels wrong. It feels as though I am betraying the sandwich place she entrusted to me to care for when I eat there without her. I miss her crazy shoes that I could never walk in and her logical yet goofy way of dealing with people on the phone or at the door, or even more, I miss the "I'm watching the game with you tonight even though I couldn't name 10 Oilers if I tried" routine that I think was secret code for "you need company... you need me" and yet, she got it everytime. She just knew.

But she's in Japan. And yes, I lay awake at night when I can't sleep and instead of crying into the pillow I can chat with her on MSN and she'll call and we get all caught up. She still tries to defend me when she's across the ocean and an entire day ahead of me and when people visit that aren't supposed to visit, she tells them that their time is up. And yes, I can hug Booker, but it's not the same.

I promised to wait to have my first Gin and Tonic with her when she returns this summer. That's what I need to look forward to - sitting on a patio in the sun, dreaming about who we're going to marry one day, what we'll name our kids, complain about the younger siblings, maybe go shopping, eat a grilled sandwich... do all the things that people do with their older sister.

But that doesn't mean that I won't miss her like crazy and wish like there's no tomorrow that she was here right now, holding my hand, saying that everything will be okay, laughing, joking, teasing, and being Alie. Why? Cuz she's like the sister that I never had...

Just accept that it's something I'll never know...

I had a wonderful conversation with a priestly friend last night. It was lovely... but it really got me thinking. More often than not, I think I forget about this whole interconnected weird circle of relationships that happened when God created only one man and one woman. It got me thinking of just how true a passage like Gal 3:28 "there is neither Greek nor Jew, slave nor free, woman nor man for you are all one in Jesus Christ" really is.

Truth be told, I think we are closer than what we first guess.

In my senior year of high school, in a small country high school, it was the first week of classes when three students in my year junior (my sister's grade eleven class) were driving back to their home in Gibbons. The driver of the small car made a left hand turn at the intersection of Hwy 28A and 37. Her call in judgement was ever so slightly a few seconds delayed and the vehicle was propelled right through the intersection on the front of semi trailer truck. The student in the back seat was thrown almost 20yards into the ditch and the other gal was taken to hospital, but died in route. As per "Murphy's Law" the driver walked away without any broken bones or internal damage and just had a few scars to serve as a physical reminder of what she had done that afternoon.

It was a horrible start to the year. The one family wouldn't even let the driver of the car into the church for the funeral. They let hardly any students into the building while the other family held a memorial in the junior high school gym and buses upon buses of students filed in.

I guess me - being the person that I am - I couldn't handle to still see the hurt and pain when the joys of Christmas rolled around and I couldn't listen to one more complaint about weird counsellors walking the halls, "just checking in"... so, I did something about it.

I started with the staff - over 70 staff members, but I wanted to try it on them first. I printed out fist sized cartoon frogs with googly eyes and speckles, coloured each one, and attached a little cut out message that read something like: "You've been F.R.O.G.G.E.D! Thank you for being the person who has allowed me to Fully Rely On Great Guidance Every Day... you have made a difference in making my day just a little better, hopefully this will brighten your day." Or something really corny and goofy. Explaining my plan to one of the guidance counsellors, she agreed to meet me at the school at 7am the next morning. Getting up at 6, throwing on some clothes and throwing my books together, I drive through the snow to arrive at school 90min before I had to be there. We got in and stuffed each one of these frogs into every staff mailbox in the office. That was it... now I just had to sit and wait.

Some teachers laughed, others didn't react at all. Some got teary eyed and others showed their homerooms... that was all I needed... if I could get one positive reaction from the student population - get one smile out of 300 kids, that was all I needed to make it worth the time it would take. So, the same thing... this time, over 300 little frogs and messages were separated into envelops and handed out to all the homeroom teachers to pass out to their students.

It worked... student population had a slight increase in their moral... some put them up in their lockers and made me laugh when I walked by, others would tell their friends that it was at home on their fridge or mirror. Sure, some showed up in the garbage or on the school grounds, but it helped one student, and that's all that mattered.

Playing dectective is fun although I have to rule out one more suspect and the secret friend has buzzed again - this time, creating a hotmail account called "littlebuzzzz" to email me from. They have really thought this through. That, and I have now heard from more than one reliable source that when someone shared my exciting news with other people, she "lost it"... from what I would assume is the same relief that I have.

The point of the story is that sometimes we never know how we touch the lives of those around us. The only thing that we can be certain of is that each person we meet, speak to, or interact with... we will impact their lives somehow - the question is how. Will they look back and regret the time that they spent with us, the time they met us, or even the time spent trying to avoid us?

I guess it's something that I'll never know... just how interconnected we all are.

If you are open, the possibilities are endless...

I don't know if it's true, but the rumor is that every Sunday in the city of Vienna there is the most amazing music ever composed played in cathedrals all through city played free of charge. It is a practice that has been around since before the first World War, and I'm sure it still happens on a regular basis.

And rumor also has it that there was a college aged student who made her rounds from church to church one Sunday listening to the free performances when she came across quite a crowd gathering at a Jesuit church. Maria Kutschera.

It was Palm Sunday and thought perhaps the crowd meant Bach.

But, trapped in the church by all the people she was greatly dismayed to learn that there was only a sermon. The message this preacher delivered quite upset her. She had been raised in the church but had stopped believing in God years prior. Rather angry, following the service she found the priest and grabbed his arm and began yelling, "How can you believe all this?"

(Memo to self if ever serving in ordained ministry... if preaching on the love of God, make sure to run and hide right after the service!)

His response surprised her because all he said to her was, "Meet me here Tuesday at 4:00pm" and it changed her life. Her childhood was anything but pleasant.. her mother died when she was young and she was forced to live with an older cousin. She rarely saw her father and he died before the age of 13. Being taken in by an abusive uncle she gave up on having any faith.

On Tuesday, she sat down with the priest and spewed off every argument against God that she had ever heard in her life for more than two hours. When she finished, the priest sat across from her in silence. She thought of more that she could say and continued and again, when she thought she finished, the priest sat there in silence. But still, she thought of more anger against God and continued on. This time, when she had finished and couldn't think of anything else, the priest finally spoke.

"Well my dear, you have been wrongly informed," he said. Realizing that at one point in her life she was a practicing Christian asked her, "when was the last time that you went to confession?" She was completely disarmed by' his unwillingness to acknowledge her doubt. Instead, the Jesuit received her mad ranting as a confession. "Take courage," he said. "I am going to pronounce the words, 'thy sins are forgiven' ... God will forget them, and your soul will look like the soul of a newly baptized person."

And low and behold, when he said the words, Maria found all of her arguments and hostility melting away. She felt as if she was floating on a cloud... confession was indeed good for the soul. From this experience, rumor has it, she became so zealous that she decided to join a convent and her story (from this point forward) may become very familiar to the average person. Maria Kutschera eventually became Maria Von Trapp whose life is ever captured in the movie - The Sound of Music.

Now the moral of the story is not that everyone should run to their parish priest and grab them after the service on Sunday (in fact, please don't!) and freak out at them because they have gone off the deep end, waiting for the (sacrament) of confession and being absolved of their sins... but instead, to look at the wonderful things that can happen if we are honest. Maria allowed herself to be honest with her feelings of abandonment and frustration with God; she didn't sugar coat her anger - she let God take it and mold it and God made something wonderful of it. He took the clay and molded it into one of the most amazing sculptures. Just think... he can do that with you too, if you let him.

I've been "BEE-at-a-fied"

Just kidding, seeing as how the Anglican Church no longer is naming any saints, I think I gave up that dream when I was received this past summer at Christ Church. Perhaps I will be named a saint within the Catholic Church for some crazy reason like writing theology. I mean, seriously - Teresa of Lisseux was named a saint because she developed the whole notion of "little steps" to heaven and she was in her early 20's... it could happen... although JPII was the one who was really big on naming saints so I think I missed the boat. Oh well. I can put my dream of becoming a saint up on the shelf with being the first woman Pope because neither one will happen.

Okay, all joking aside, everyone is a saint for something or someone and hence the whole notion of the communion of saints that we proclaim our belief in each time we pray the Apostle's or Nicine Creed, but this is not meant to be about saints, nor the process to sainthood... but about bees.

That's right... I have a mystery on my hands and so if you like mysteries... let's review the evidence up to this point in time.

1) A nicely wrapped package that came home with MJ from Executive Council
a) It was given to MJ by Priestly-Motherly type to pass onto me
b) Also in the "pass along" line there was a prayer book from a friend (signed by them), and a picture drawn
from a youth at St. George's.
c) The package had my name written on it, along with a message saying, "Just BEE-cause"
d) The package was wrapped in yellow paper with little bees all over it
e) Signed from my "Secret Friend"
f) My thoughts would be that it was sent from someone who was at camp this summer or the Jr. High weekend in Barrhead where we implemented the "secret friend" game.
g) The gift was a mixed CD entitled, "Sing, Sing, Sing"
h) It included songs by bands like Kutless, Jars of Clay, The Wailin Jennys, and various other jazz artists or contempory Christian music

2) Another nicely wrapped package was delivered to the windshield of MJ's car (that was parked in the alley behind the Cathedral) for the AIDS closing service
a) This was wrapped in yellow paper with a Blue's Clue's sticker holding the flap of paper down
b) A cute little card written by someone who knows scripture and can quote from Son 4:1
c) A small pop up bee on the front and a golden message written quite neatly saying, "may your day be filled with (a little ornament bumble bee) - UTY!"
d) Signed from my Secret Friend
e) This CD is entitled, "When the Rain Comes"
f) Again, with a range of artists ranging between comp. Christian to jazz.
g) The whole CD and card were in a plastic bag with MJ's address written on the top in marker

It's very mysterious. I have begun my investigation, raising question with 5 different suspects.
1) Ms. Seminarian from Toronto
2) Ms. Wax from Edmonton
3) Ms. Amazing Prayer also from Edmonton
4) Ms. Scrapbooker from Edmonton
5) Priestly-Motherly type (from Edmonton)
(I have also begun interogating MJ, but she is just been the messanger that this individual is using in delivering their gifts... but it has to be someone who knows the vehicle driven by MJ in order to put it on her windshield and someone who knows that Priestly-Motherly type can get stuff to me during visits and such).

Here is where I am at:
1 - claims to have a knowledge of all the artists on the various CD's, but promises to have no way of sending such things all the way from Toronto to an agent here in the city. Further investigation has been postponed.


2 - claims to take an interest in helping to get to the bottom of this generous person, but suggested the individual in toronto... this lead is going nowhere. This agent would not have been able to get the second package to MJ's car on Friday night and therefore, further investigation has been halted here as well.


3 - jumping to every conclusion possible, emailed this individual to thank them for the gift the first time around, but this individual claimed to not know anything of the gift. They acknowledged passing the prayer book onto Priestly Motherly type, but said that was all they gave her.


4 - started to laugh at the use of wording on behalf of the secret agent and therefore, although it would seem within their nature, I am inclined to think that Ms. Scrapbooker truly has nothing to do with these actions.


5 - this is my greatest lead, although really nothing to go on. If the individual were to pass the first dropping of the gift onto her, she would have been able to know who it was... however when questioned in an email about this particular mystery, no answer was given... rather the question avoided. Either Priestly Motherly type knows or has been sworn to secrecy. Hmmmm....

Well, that is where I stand thus far on the mystery front... there remains two suspects to bring into question and I believe that if one of them knows, I can break them. (Not literally of course!)... however my next line of questioning shall be directed at the following three secret agents:
1) Chocolate is my friend agent - who knows MJ's vehicle and where she parks
2) Chocolate's other half... who would also know the inner workings of MJ
3) Ms. Amazing Prayer because she again was present at the scene of Friday nights service
and 4) Ms. Other Priestly type... who was not only at the camps, but knows MJ and Priestly Motherly type and knows that they would be reliable messengers...

Any other ideas???

I have a feeling...

I could be wrong, but I have a feeling that I am holding seeds that need to be scattered.

But, there is only problem...

... the seeds are sticking to my hand!

Just kidding. But all joking aside, it is slightly frustrating to know that I am holding the seeds to plant in the garden, the sun is shining, the weather people are forcasting rain (although we all know that they don't always know everything), the soil is tilled, and everything seems as it should.

Why then, can I not cast them?

I know with all my heart that I can talk about leaving discouragement behind and finding a new hope, and I totally know that I can write about my trip with cancer, and Christians in community... well, I'm a Christian and I definitely know about communities - being totally uplifted by them and all. And having prayed about two of three, I am confident that I am not alone and like Jeremiah (not the fish, the prophet) the Lord will work through my words, but I just can't seem to start.

The deadline for the "trip with cancer" is Monday and so in an attempt to write it, I began floating through old blogs and re-living the experiences that seem like forever ago. It's hard to imagine the first experience of hair loss now as I have been without for ages and the fear that ate me up each night when I am on the highway driving straight for the turn-off that reads "Remission"...

It's hard. Typically my creative juices flow during a run - that's how I have written all my best papers, class projects, youth reflections, talks or articles.

Hmmmm.... how else can I dry my hand off so that the seeds will no longer stick? Perhaps I need not worry about casting them in the right rows or places, not be concerned with how many I throw each time but rather, just begin to cast them and leave the rest to God.

I have a feeling that's how all great gardens are made, not because of the planter but because of the maker.

Lil' One

It was like having a twin growing up, but instead of dressing alike, mirroring each others personalities and joining to the others hip everywhere we went, we did the exact opposite. Only a year apart in school (because of how her birthday fell... not because I failed a grade!!! - just for clarification), we honestly had everyone convinced in high school that we were cousins. Yes, really tight - but cousins.

It was until our Biology teacher was walking down the hall and heard Kristin laugh that she finally clued in, after we both missed the same classes throughout the term for family stuff and we spoke of 'mom an dad' in class... it was the laugh that gave us away.

She was sitting on the bed this evening, after having left her own birthday celebrations, when she said, "hey Ang... do you remember how we used to fight until we made mom and dad go crazy?"

Exhausted, all I could do was smile and nod. "You bet I do, but I finally figured out the cause of all those fights..."

"Really? What was it? That your shelf was messier than mine? That you always got to play the left hand in our piano duets? Or do you think it was just because we fed off one another so well?"

"No Kristin... the problem was that mom and dad couldn't stop at one. They just had to go ahead and have at least two kids." Unable to contain my smile, I quickly added, "they should have stopped while the going was good!"

That was it. We spent a solid chunk of time reminding each other of all the times that one of us stepped in to save the other. There were so many... we truly have had each others backs over the last 20 years.

When I was in grade one and Kristin was kindergarten, our parents went to Hawaii for a week and brought back with them a box of chocolates. Chantelle was just a baby - maybe a year - and the chocolates had been hidden in my parents closet. Kristin had a nack for causing trouble and one day, when trying to find some new dress up clothes, came across this box of hidden chocolates. I don't think it would have been so bad if she could have stopped at one... but like someone else I know (hi chocolate loving friend at the end of the hall!), she ate the WHOLE BOX!! As sneaky as she was, she managed to eat it all without getting caught red handed. However, it didn't take my mom long to discover that someone had been in her closet and so she came storming into our bedroom and said, "Kristin, do you know what happened to Mommy and Daddy's closet?" And Kristin, with her face covered in chocolate, shook her head. Trying to be the good big sister, jumped in and tried to cover by saying, "No Mom, but Kristin saw Chantelle going in there and tried to stop her mom. She tried to pull her away from your chocolates mom, but Chantelle took a chocolate and just wiped it all over Kristin. Yup, it was Chantelle!"

Memo to self... never have three kids because two always seem to find a way to team up on the third one!
Second memo to self... never try and cover for your sister who is seriously, covered in chocolate and deserves discipline. Lying is bad!

Then Kristin reminded me of the time that she jumped to my rescue... when my mom was working part time, rather than going home to an empty house we would walk through the trees and hang out at Grandma's house until mom got home. One Thursday, my Grandma heard our dog barking and sent my Grandpa to find out what was going on. Yup - our house was definitely being broken into. Grandpa came running back and told my Grandma to call the police and so she did, but as soon as she called... she went back to help my Grandpa catch the robbers. A few minutes after she left, the phone rang. Kristin, Chantelle, and Katie all looked at me and said, "you're the oldest... you answer." So, taking a deep breath, I answered the phone. The nice lady on the other end was very sweet and understanding. "Is your mom there?" "No. My mom is at work, but this is my Grandma's house but is at my house trying to catch the bad guys with my Grandpa."

"Oh, so that is your house being broken into?"

For whatever reason, when she asked our address, I just started crying. I didn't handle crisis situations very well at that point in time. Kristin grabbed the phone from my hands as I sat there in shock, being consoled by my 5 year old and 7 year old sisters. A little embarrasing now, but then... nah... my world had stopped. What if they took my Cabbage doll?? Or worse... my books!! Kristin explained where we lived, apologized for my behavior and said that she would have my Grandma call back as soon as she got in but that this lady better send her cop men out to our house soon because my Grandpa took the shot gun to our house with him. (Which he totally had... my family is a farm family... what else can I say). Kristin continued to say, "and if I go back over to my house and have to clean up some bad guys blood and stuff that would be very disgusting. And I wouldn't like it one bit. So I suggest you send your cop men before I hear the gun go off! Good-bye." Then she casually hung up the phone.

A conversation like that today would have social services at the door waiting to interview everyone...

Good times.

Anyway, tonight we celebrated "Boke's" 20th birthday and while she doesn't read the blog or even know it exists... I hope she knows just how proud of her I really am. Studying buisness and following her dream to walk in my dad's footsteps, she is awesome!! My best friend and partner in crime...

Happy Birthday lil' one!

The Greatest Lesson of all

I think that the greatest gift (or perhaps the second greatest gift because a man named JC is already THE greatest gift...) for anyone, any time of the year, through the most challenging parts of life or when beginning a new (and somewhat) scary journey is not the gift that costs the most or even stands out as the most pretty... it is a rosebud.

I don't know where she got it from or who taught it to her; I don't know why my dream was re-living this particular childhood memory or why I find the lesson in it so very profound... but I am blaming it on the Massively-Insane-large-sitting in my stomach milkshake from last night.

I love my grandmother. She has taught me how to knit, cross stitch, boil potatos without them boiling over, how to camp, the song, You are my Sunshine, bake, and follow my heart - wherever it shall lead. But more than that, she taught me a lesson about life that I dare say is the greatest lesson of all. A lesson of trust and submission, a lesson I will carry with me on this road in life, through seminary and God willing - ordained ministry of some form or another.

I was really young and we had gone camping with my grandparents. It was normally tradition to either go for a bike ride or "nature walk" at some point every day and looking back, I have a feeling that the long bike rides my grandad took us on were to leave my grandma a few moments of silence and sanity. She never came for the bike rides, but she was totally there for the walks.

She understood, I think better than anyone, my "I'm the oldest and I can do it by myself" attitude and so on one of the walks, she plucked a tiny wild rosebud off the plant as we sauntered by. Handing it to me she said, "I bet you that you can't open this flower without breaking a single petal," and the challenge was on.

Much to my childhood disappointment, my wise and all knowing grandmother was right and the more I saw defeat approaching, the harder I tried. I think I must have broken every petal at least twice before I threw it in the bush and mumbled, "I bet you that you are right."

She smiled, embraced me in a sideways sort of hug and spoke a poem that went something like this:

It is only a tiny rosebud: a flower of God's design; But I cannot unfold its petals with these clumsy hands of mine. For the secret of unfolding flowers is not known to such as I. It is GOD who opens this flower so sweetly, when in my hands it fades and will die. If I cannot unfold a rosebud, this flower of God's design, then how on earth can I think I have wisdom to unfold this life of mine? So, I'll trust in Him for His leading each moment of every day. I will always look to him for His guidance each step of the pilgrim way. This pathway that lies before me, only my Heavenly Father knows. So I'll trust in Him to unfold the life moments, just as He unfolds the rose.

Now that I remember it, I just need to work on the "trust" part of it. Oh Boy!!

A tiny serving of God's grace...

Perhaps it was the fact that my family sat in the same pew every Sunday from the time I was 5 or maybe it had something to do with altar serving almost every Sunday from the day I turned 7... or, who knows... maybe I was just born a church nerd. Whatever it is, intrinsic or learned, I have a deep love and admiration for churches and stained glass windows. I'm not at all shocked to admit that it was through this burning love, I received a tiny portion of God's grace this evening.

I was able to fall asleep but it only took rolling over once to realize that Milkshake the Insanely Massive was still sitting in my stomach and he didn't care much for movement. And so flipping through library books most sanitized, there she be.

Much to my tearful eyes did appear, a picture of the Holy Family illuminated by God's perfect light and radiating God's unexplainable love.

I tried to get up - I needed to tell the world, the entire Alexander clan of this gift of grace and peace that had come over me. Perhaps it's a good thing I didn't because I am still shaking with so much excitement, and bursting at the lips with chocolate milkshake, I probably would have fallen down the stairs. A piece of the broken puzzle has been found! And that piece is me!!

Truth be told, of all the people that could be illuminated the most from the picture, the person I least suspected was Mary, but there she was... full of grace and one with the Lord; holy and blessed and praying over none other... but the Son of God. I sit here and wonder, did Mary know how very special this babe would be? Was she aware of the pain and suffering he would one day face? Did she kiss him good night, and if so, was she really that close with God in heaven? What were her prayers for this child? When she looked down in awe, did she ever wonder, how can I do this? or I'm much to young or what if...? Did she know then just how hard it would be to let go and let God at Calvary? Did she understand the rollarcoaster of emotions that Jesus would carry her through from a panic striken mother to a devout follower and disciple?

I can speculate, but until I meet her in heaven, I will never know. But it doesn't matter because ultimately, at the end of day, whether these questions have known answers or not, Jesus Christ is our Saviour - the one and only... healer and physician of all.

But do you know what is more important than that?

That even taken over by fear, hundreds (I'm sure) of questions, doubt, speculation, hesitancy, frustration and being completely overwhelmed, she said yes to God.

She understood one simple fact and that was that God loved her so much and knew (like really truly knew her) her and... wait for it... amoung all the women God could have chosen, he chose Mary.

The greatest part is that Mary was never alone. Gabriel walked the first stretch with Mary and then it was her cousin Elizabeth. Along came Joseph and then later, Jesus, and at his death - the disciples. Although it probably seemed tough at the time, Mary was truly - never alone. She had support, a mission, and the love of God... that's all she needed.

God could have chosen a million other people to walk in the shoes I am stumbling in now, but he didn't. He chose me, and by golly - I can't let him down. So, with Mary as my guide - with all my Gabriel's, Elizabeth's, Joseph's, JC's, and disciples, I continue forward... embracing each step with as much strength as I can muster.
I have been chosen, I have support, a mission, and the love of God. What more can I ask for?

Rules? Nah... who are you kiddin'?

"There are some people who feel that the rules do not apply to them..." and "no one is having trouble with the rules but you..." When she says them in her sweet, supa Nanny way with a certain aire of authority, she almost sounds as though she could be the Queen getting after one of her subjects for stepping out of line. She says it with such grace, I was rather flabbergasted to finally understand that she was talking about me and to me.

Perhaps that is why to this point in life, I have been drawn so strongly to youth ministry... a ministry where you can make up the rules as you go. This picture still makes me laugh until my sides hurt. Brittney (the gal featured in the photo looking like a drenched sailor) and I (who may or may not be the life size bunny) decided that the RC Church did not celebrate All Saints Day as much as they could and thought it would be valuable for that to change. So, dressed in a full (yes FULL) bunny suit (from head to toe - with little bunny booties taking the place of my regular shoes) I hopped from the back of the Church to the front when everyone had sat down after communion - wiggling my nose and shaking my little tail - to make the announcement that there would be an All Saints Day party the following weekend after all the services. Going without my glasses as to not see anyone's reaction, I did fine until I got close enough to the front to see Fr. Andrzej, our polish priest, almost crying from laughing so hard.

(That's right - Catholics know how to party... Anglican's may get a visit from St. Nicholas but the congregation at St. Albert Parish got a visit from the Easter Bunny... who we actually tried to pass as "St. Bunny" because of course the Easter Bunny has no Church significance what so ever, but "St. Bunny" was the patron saint of all bunnies who lived in bunny land!).

However, it didn't seem to matter what I tried in youth ministry, whether trying to claim to be "St. Bunny" or take youth on a ski trip in which we spend the night in the Emergency room of both Canmore and the Foothills Hospital in Calgary for a slight overdose of alcohol for a certain individual (not me!) who snuck off... not once did I get in trouble for breaking the rules. I followed the general protocol, but did completely outrageous things like a Halloween/All Saints party without a single mention of "rules". (Granted, I would never try this in the position I have now because I think my employer might have a slight heart attack...)

With knowing this, does it surprise you in the least that when rules are put in place to eventually make me better, I still have no desire to follow them?

Let's go over some of them...

1) I am to wear a mask at all times - sleeping or awake (unless eating) to prevent any germ from floating into my body. Apparently my body is in overdrive and a small bug could turn out to be fatal.

2) The number of people (total) I am to interact with over the remaining 5ish weeks of chemo... is 5. The same 5 people the entire time. HA! I am breaking that one by simply living where I am. And this means I need to receive permission from my oncologist tomorrow to go home on Sunday for my sisters birthday supper. (They better say yes because otherwise they are setting me up to break yet another rule!)

3) There is sanitizer by my bed and is to be used before I get in bed, while in bed, and before I get out.

4) Anything I touch is to be regularily washed (clothing, bedding, blankets), and anything touching my mouth (like eating utensils) are to be sanitized or boiled before I use them. Books, pens, my glasses, handles of doors, my computer keyboard, the shower... you name it - supposed to be sanitized or disinfected regularily because I simply can't afford to have any bug.

5) Avoid live animals (they are apparently prone to carrying germs in their fur or saliva) and refrain from going in public (and by refrain, they really mean - don't try it unless you want us to admit you!)

6) Anyone that I do come in contact with is to be sanitized (kind of funny if you think about it) before coming in contact - ie insane hand washing followed by disinfectant hand sanitizer and should be wearing a mask to contain their germs - whether they are aware they have them or not.

7) Stay warm! Apparently when your body gets cold, it suppresses your immune system? I think that's the reason they gave. Regardless, staying warm is now a rule - not just a good idea.

8) On off days of chemo I am to use a saline solution, while wearing a mask, to clean around the PIC line site.

9) I have one week from today (Thursday) to put back at least half the weight I have lost. One week. (And no, I don't wish to discuss the consequence of what might happen if I don't)

10) Stay hydrated. The hydration via iv that I receive at the Cross (while it feels very strange) is to only partially replace the unhydrated cells that dried up from the drugs of chemo. Rather stupid, but so be it.

Any-who, there you have it - the top 10 rules to getting my life back. Slightly stupid or a lot stupid?? Hmmm... wouldn't you feel a little odd if you had a mask on and anyone and everyone around you had a mask on? If beating cancer is largely mental, I don't know about anyone else but some of these rules make it pretty obvious as to who is sick and who is not, who has an immune system and who has none...

So here I lay - wearing two pairs of pants, a hoodie, my coat and covered with an electric blanket, a quilt and a fleecy... wishing it were all finished, whatever the outcome will be. Waking up in the darkness and asking the question, "where am I" for the millionith time since the end of November, crying as silently as I can into my blanket - which I can still smell through the mask, thinking and debating which rules are bendable and which are not, and pleading for the achey pain to cease and ever so softly uttering the words, "My God, my God, why have you foresaken me?" until I once again fall asleep, awaiting the next awakening and sweet Canadian-British sound of my name, carrying with her the next dose of required medication.